


The Midnight Kitchen

by Scarlett_Peacock



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Mother/Son Bonding, food au, mother/son relationship, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Peacock/pseuds/Scarlett_Peacock
Summary: A short fic featuring Fergus, Claire and the midnight munchies...(This fic is not associated with Just Desserts and acts as a standalone one-shot)





	The Midnight Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all like this. It was written a short while ago, I just completely blanked in posting! This is NOT associated with Just Desserts. 
> 
> With love - S x

 

 

I had been lying in bed staring at the ceiling for at least half an hour, making patterns out of the shadows that drifted overhead and trying to push the mess of thoughts that were running through my mind into quiet submission. My bed, usually soft, comfortable and inviting to say the least had turned to brick beneath me, uncomfortable with every turn. Jamie lay passed out beside me, dead to the world after a manic day at the publishing house. As soon as his head had touched the pillow, he’d fallen unconscious. I envied his ability to sleep. An earthquake or hurricane could hit and he would still wake up with a smile on his face, spring in his step and a good eight hours behind him.   
  
  
The teasing glare from the digital clock on the table, with the minutes passing painfully slowly, had finally been enough motivation to get up and go downstairs. There would be some last-minute paperwork to finish in my work-bag no doubt, and there is no time like a sleepless night to get the unfinished finished.   
  
  
Pushing back the cotton covers on the bed, the cold air hit me with force, sending a shiver down my spine. A jumper of Jamie’s lay strewn on the floor and without a second thought I plucked it up and slipped it over my head, the warm scent of his cologne drifting from the neck of it.  
  
  


With quiet movements, I padded across the bedroom floor and to the door, twisting the ancient door handle and hoping it didn’t shudder or squeak as I moved it. With luck, it remained silent. The whole house was bathed in darkness, but with the familiarity of my surroundings, I stepped down the corridor past the other bedrooms on this floor and down the stairs, careful not to catch the creaking step on my way down.

The remaining ashes of the fireplace still glowed a warm and vibrant crimson, providing just enough light that I could find the switch for the brass reading lamp that sat beside the fireplace. I rubbed my hands in front of the lingering heat, hoping to warm myself a little before settling down to work. Turning it on I winced from the brightness of the light, blinking several times in hopes of adjusting my eyes. I’d abandoned my work-bag on one of the couches as I’d arrived home and I was half thrilled I had. The floor was cold enough beneath my feet without inflicting any further freezing temperatures on myself.  
  
  


Powering up my laptop, my face glowed an ethereal white against the shadows. I was greeted by a picture of the house weeks earlier; Jamie, Fergus and myself standing under the archway grinning minutes before a huge storm had hit and we’d resembled drowned rats in seconds.  
  
  
Tapping away at the final lines of a book proposal I had put forward on 18th century nursing techniques and methods, I eyed the grandfather clock that sat to my right by the curtained windows. I had assumed had been working for at least an hour - it had in fact only been twenty minutes. My stomach grumbled beneath the sweater, urging me to head downstairs into the kitchen for a little late-night snack. I had ignored the noise, attempting to work through the growing grumbling noises, but it seemed my attempts were for naught. With a resigned sigh, I closed my laptop and made for the kitchen.

———>>——-

**  
**Lallybroch’s kitchen was quite thankfully easy to navigate even in the dark. It was a huge space, but after years of stumbling in after long shifts at the hospital, I’d learned the plan of the kitchen fairly quickly. The only guiding lights I had was the dull glow from the outdoor lamps and the bright glare of the time on the microwave, and those were really no use at all. A dull humming noise came from the fridge, calling me closer to see what we had stocked inside. **  
**

Tiptoeing toward it, the stone was horribly cold under my feet, regretting not putting on any socks or slippers before coming downstairs – though the likelihood of acting being able to find them in the middle of the night and in almost complete darkness was unlikely to have been successful.

I pulled open the fridge which in turn illuminated the whole kitchen. A breath of even colder air swarmed me, and out of the desire not to continue becoming colder than I already was, I snatched up a large jar of jam before turning away from the fridge - only to be met with a dark figure sitting atop one of my countertops.

“Bloody hell!” I shouted, my heart thudding wildly against my chest.

“Désolé!”  
  


The figure, revealing itself to be Fergus as opposed to some mysterious, terrifying gargoyle or thief,  jumped down off the countertop, his blue pyjama clad body dodging over the stairwell to turn on the overhead light. Placing the jam jar down onto the kitchen island counter, I waved my hand at him in an “it’s fine” motion and started to calm down again. A half empty bottle of milk sat beside the spot Fergus had occupied, the remains of a chocolate biscuit wrapper crumpled up beside it.

“So, you’re the milk thief!” He looked over to the glass and blushed a little bit. “I thought Jamie was feeding Adso whole milk again.”

“Ah, no.” He shook his head, the mop of curls bouncing wildly.

“Why are you doing up so late? You’ve got an early start tomorrow, and after football with Ian I thought you’d be passed out.” I enquired, crossing over to the breadbin to my left to take out a large, unsliced loaf of bread and the tub of butter.

“Had a nightmare.” He answered flippantly, leaving me feeling guilty that I hadn’t heard him wake nor come downstairs alone. “What’s your excuse?”  

I looked over to him, loaf in hand and answered with an unannounced yawn, “I have a big surgery in the morning.”

Placing down the loaf, I returned to the knife block to pick out a long-serrated bread knife and went into the utensil drawer for a small butter knife. Curious eyes followed my actions and before long it became apparent that I was about to make myself a snack. There was sometimes nothing more tempting than watching someone else make something to eat to inspire hunger.  
  


“Would you like something too?” I knew he would say yes. To say my boy had hollow legs would be a rather restrained description. Never had I seen someone eat a Sunday dinner, a second helping and two helpings of dessert without issue until Fergus.

His face lit up greedily before he smiled, “Yes please!”

“Could you grab me a large plate, and a tumbler glass too then we can share.” Fergus nodded, re-abandoning his glass of milk. Tearing open the cellophane on the bread, I picked up the serrated knife and began cutting through the crusty loaf, bursts of crumbs flying wildly onto the chopping board and the countertop. Fergus placed a large white porcelain plate in front of the chopping board before returning with a tumbler and the bottle of milk, pouring me a large measure of milk.

“When I was little, whenever I couldn’t sleep I would have a glass of milk and a jam sandwich. I’d be out like a light in no time.” I finished chopping several thick slices of bread, placing them flat onto the counter before rewrapping the remaining loaf with the torn cellophane.

“Like a midnight kitchen?” He asked, moving to stand beside me. His voice was soft with sleep, and I knew that in no time at all he’d probably wander back off to bed, hopefully without the nightmares plaguing the rest of his sleep.   
  


“Exactly like a midnight kitchen.” I picked up the butter knife and pointed it to our glasses of milk before continuing, “Sometimes you have to sit awake with the stars for a little while and share a glass of milk with them.”   
  


I opened the tub of butter, the lid making a snapping noise with its removal, followed by the jam, the metal of the lid making a dull noise against the glass jar itself. Beginning with the butter, I started with a hearty dollop slathered across each piece of bread. The crimson jam followed next, swirling the two together into a delightful marble, the seeds sticking out black against the thick white butter beneath it. Sandwiching two slices together, I cut my own into half triangles before cutting off the bottom crust as Fergus preferred, then into two thick rectangles. Jam oozed from his sandwich, and out of habit I sucked my thumb, removing the sticky sweetness.   
  


As I placed the pieces of our sandwiches onto the plate, Fergus stepped aside to the bottom of the kitchen island, pulling out two chairs and moving our milk glasses to our places. We sat quietly, his eyes drifting toward the plate.   
  


“After you.” I offered. Making a tentative movement, Fergus reached out and picked up one of his sandwiches and took a large, greedy bite. His face lit with enjoyment of such a simple delight. I followed suit, taking a large bite of my sandwich. Thick lumps of sugary strawberry burst in my mouth as I chewed, crumbs sticking to my lip. The moment I had begun to take a large sip of rather warm milk, Fergus began quietly.   
  


“I think I dreamt you left.”   
  


The sentence wasn’t a new one. He’d told Jamie he had dreamt I had left, leaving him in a tearful panic and Jamie trying his best to remedy his fears. The leaden weight of the words sunk so deeply into my chest I thought I might choke. It was easy to forget that he had only been with us for mere months. Despite the everyday rituals; the good mornings, good nights, hugs, smiles, the pride and the worry – he had only been my boy in the eyes of the law and God himself for the blink of an eye.  
  


“It’s always the same dream. I’m not sure where I am but I’m alone. I know I am scared.” Fergus took another large bite, leaving deep indentations in the bread. His voice seemed to be distant, as though he was trying to stop the fear from showing.   
  


“I used to have the same type of dream, you know. Still do sometimes. Except it was my Uncle Lamb when I was a child, now it’s Jamie,” I swallowed, looking directly at him,  _“and you.”_  
  


Jamie knew as much that I had dreams he left – walked straight out of the door with vitriolic words hanging in the air. He knew I woke up panicking, but he didn’t know my unconscious mind had added Fergus into the mix.   
  


“I think that is why I come downstairs. To remember I’m here.”  Fergus looked up, watching my expression as much as I was watching his. Every session I had gone to in our adoption training said that we might have to deal with heavy conversations, and to know we shouldn’t worry if we couldn’t provide a definite solution, but to offer assistance. How exactly would one fight away the nightmares of their child?   
  


We both took another bite, another sip, trying to collect the right words. I felt as though I wanted to gather him in my arms and hold him as though he were small, guard him from the dreams if I could.

 

“You can always wake me up if you want to.” I began, my voice a little hesitant. These were new waters, and the last thing I had wanted to do was scare him. “We can open the midnight kitchen and have a talk. If it would help?”

 

With his bright, beautiful blue eyes he looked up at me and smiled, the dimples either side of his mouth furrowing so he looked almost a cherub. Fergus didn’t answer, nodding instead twice before refocusing on the remains of his sandwich. Our conversation seemed on hold for now. We both instead sat, eating and drinking, enjoying the company of the other in the middle of the night.   
  


A little time passed, the sky outside brightening a little with the coming morning. Fergus had taken on a sleepy glaze, his head resting against his hand.  
  


“Think you’re ready for bed?” I asked, tiredness sweeping as quickly over me.   
  


He yawned in reply, reminding me of a brunette haired lion before nodding, pushing his chair back and standing.  
  
  
“Come on then.”  
  


Leaving the mess behind us, Jamie or I would return in the morning to clear it away. As we passed the light switch, Fergus wrapped his arm around my back. The warmth of his action spread through me, and in the darkness, I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.  Sleepily we walked through the house, past my abandoned paperwork and up onto the first floor.  
  


With an almost zombie like movement Fergus turned toward me, smiled with glazed eyes and hugged me, arms wrapped around my waist. His head rested on my chest, his breaths warm against my flesh. Returning his affection, I kissed the top of his head before he moved back, shuffling toward his bedroom door.  
  


“’Night my darling.” I whispered.   
  


“Goodnight,” He replied, whispering over his shoulder, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”  
  


I exhaled a laugh as his door clicked closed, hearing his bed creak beneath his weight as he fell into it. With another brief pause, I started for my own bedroom, tiptoeing back down the darkened hallway.  

 


End file.
